


The Seducer or the Seduced?

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Captivity, Gen, M/M, Power Dynamics, Season/Series 01, say my name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riario has Leonardo at his mercy, as he once had Riario tied up and vulnerable. Riario is determined to take full advantage of the situation, but somehow he doesn't seem to be the one in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seducer or the Seduced?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveChilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/gifts).



Riario was accustomed to both the giving and receiving of pain.

Over the years Riario's father had beaten him, belittled him, thrown wine over him, thrown punches at him, intimidated him with blades, and threatened him with disfigurement and death. Riario never retaliated. A bastard son, he was thankful for any recognition, any sliver of acknowledgement. His best hope of survival, his best chance of gaining power, was to stay at his father's side and keep up the deception that this man was both his uncle and the true pope. So he swallowed his own rage and his grief, only giving vent to it when it was safe to do. This was mostly when he could use it against others.

Whenever he forgot this, he was punished. For example, when, in a fit of rage, Sixtus had almost drowned Lupo, Riario had foolishly asked, "Would not the good Lord show mercy?" causing his father to turn on him, punching him repeatedly until he lay, humiliated on the floor, the pope kicking him in the chest as he swept past. That was the worst part, being completely sprawled upon the cold tiles, utterly defeated. Physical pain was only part of the equation.

Small wonder then, that he had become an expert in interrogation. Yet Riario had taken no pleasure in torturing young Nico, drawing forth the bloody Widow's Tears; it was a necessity, nothing more. If the boy had not been so loyal to his maestro he need not have suffered.

When Nico later retaliated, Riario bore the touch of the blade with as much dignity as he could muster, laughing at Nico's efforts in between the yelps of pain he could not fully suppress. The truth was, Riario had suffered worse, and bearing agony under such circumstances had a certain nobility to it. Something he'd possibly taught Nico, a subtle corruption of innocence that would serve the boy well in the future.

Afterwards, however, Nico and Zoroaster had tied him to a tree, and Leonardo, the artista, the man who aroused such complicated feelings within Riario, had stared at him with contempt. Zoroaster might kill him, and in fact had been loudly offering to do so all night, sometimes outlining the ways he'd like to do so in great detail - the man was coarse but he did not lack imagination. Riario was almost impressed. However Riario doubted Leonardo would kill him. It was, Riario believed, not in his nature to take a life easily, to strike down a vulnerable enemy. Leonardo was still capable of mercy.

There was something else in Leonardo's gaze though, beyond the anger and the loathing. A recognition they weren't so different? Or was that wishful thinking on Riario's part? Leonardo had wrenched the key from around Riario's neck, and walked away. He overrode Zoroaster's protests at leaving his enemy still breathing; he spoke of the humiliation of being left alive after such a failure, how it was worse than death. He understood, then, Riario realised. Perhaps it was a lesson Leonardo had been taught by his father, as Riario had been schooled by his own.

Turn and turn about. It was now Riario's turn once again to have the upper hand. Now he had Leonardo at his mercy, chained to a rack rather than tied to a tree. Straps were fastened to his hands and feet, as well as wrapping around his neck, shoulders, hips, and knees. Riario allowed himself a moment of delight at the sight of Leonardo thus constrained. He was going to enjoy this.

"I don't have the Book of Leaves," Leo said, as if dismissing a serving wench who'd brought him the wrong ale. Riario savoured the pride in the artista's tone. When he was finished, there would be humility in its place and it would be his doing. He would break the arrogant Leonardo. He would make him beg.

"I believe you." Riario folded his hands behind his back, pacing in front of the rack. It was the truth. Leonardo was, if anything, too honest, too forthright with his knowledge and opinions. Arrogant too. If it were in his possession he'd likely brag that he had the Book of Leaves, boasting that, no matter what Riario did to him, he'd never tell. As if he really could conceal such a secret.

"I don't know where it is."

Half-truth. "I think you know more than you admit."

Leonardo sighed. "You can torture me, but I can't tell you what I don't know."

Riario picked up a knife from the table, a simple blade amongst the various ingenious tools of torture. He tipped the knife so that it caught the light of the candles which lent some little illumination to the dark dungeon. "Perhaps I can torture you for my own amusement."

A trace of fear flickered over Leonardo's face, quickly replaced by his usual bluster. "I don't think you will."

"Nico would say otherwise."

"No." Leonardo shook his head, the least restrained part of his body. "You tortured him for information. You may be a monster, but you're a monster with purpose, no matter how twisted that purpose is."

He'd been called worse, but to hear the word monster from Leonardo's lips was an unexpected blow. Riario lifted the blade and stepped in close, standing to the side of the rack. Leonardo strained but his peripheral vision was limited. Riario stroked the dull side of the blade along Leonardo's arm, delighting in the stifled cry it wrought from the artista's lips before he realised he had not been cut.

"You're right," Riario said softly. Leonardo understood him, which could be an advantage or disadvantage, depending on how he used this knowledge. "I always have purpose." This close he could see beads of sweat on Leonardo's forehead and smell the scent of sweat and oils, not at all an unpleasant aroma. There was still paint on Leonardo's forefinger and under one thumbnail, for he had been snatched while painting a landscape.

Riario had ordered the painting to be brought along too, half-finished as it was, and he had taken to his chambers for safe-keeping while his underlings prepared Leonardo for this conversation. There was a small cut on one cheekbone that hadn't been there when they'd initially captured him, and Riario had promised himself he'd find out who had done it and punish them. He'd been clear on the matter. Any harm to be done to Leonardo was to be from his hands, and his alone.

Leonardo swallowed again. "I'm always right."

Riario laughed. "Such arrogance. I shall have to fix that. It can serve as my purpose here."

This was not like other interrogations. It was no longer just about information. He wanted to hear Leonardo scream. Wanted him weak and vulnerable. Wanted him to beg Riario for mercy. Yet he found he didn't want to mar the tender flesh; he certainly had no desire to risk damaging the arms or hands that were capable of creating such beautiful artwork.

Leonardo did not know this, however. He ought to fear Riario, but then he feared little. Not even the wrath of the Almighty.

"You don't believe in God, do you, Leonardo?"

"I believe in science."

Riario pressed the tip of blade into Leonardo's chin, not quite hard enough to draw blood. Leonardo leaned backwards as much as his captivity would allow, which was little.

"Do you never call His name when you are afraid?" Riario lifted his free hand and smoothed back a stray lock of hair from Leonardo's forehead with tenderness that, juxtaposed against his cruelty, ought to confuse and distress his prisoner. "Do you never call His name when you spill your seed in your unholy passions?"

Leonardo's tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. "Do you? Or you always deny yourself the earthly pleasure of lying in a woman's arms? Or a man's."

Riario swallowed hard, grasping the hilt of the knife tighter lest he lose his temper and damage Leonardo in a way he did not intend. He must try to be gracious, for Leonardo knew nothing of Riario's desires or sacrifices or his faith.

"If it is the price of my freedom for me to call to God, then I shall," Leonardo said, voice husky now. "But we both know it would be a lie. You can make someone kneel at an altar, but you cannot change what they believe in their heart."

Leonardo spoke truly, but that was not what concerned Riario. The more unpalatable truth was that Riario found himself once more entranced by this man. Apart, he could plot against him, secure in the knowledge he was working for God and the greater good. Yet once he was in Leonardo's company something else took over, a dark passion, an unholy lust that made every blasphemous word from the artista's lips ring in Riario's ears like the purest hymn.

He traced the tip of the blade down the centre of Leonardo's chest, delighting in the shiver it brought forth, a thrill of both fear and pleasure. He paused with the blade just below Leonardo's navel. One thrust would be deadly. To drag the blade two inches lower would make things…interesting. Riario's eyes widened as he watched Leonardo's breathing become ragged, and his shoulders arch backwards. His eyes closed, lips twitching as if in prayer.

So Leonardo was enjoying this almost as much as Riario was. That was unexpected, but not unwelcome, so long as Leonardo kept his arousal in check and didn't impale himself on the knife in his excitement.

How was it that Leonardo was the one in chains and yet was seemingly the one in control, certainly over Riario's emotions? Because Riario could not stop himself from entertaining thoughts that would earn him scorn, a beating, an eternity in hell, if his father knew of them. And yet, in this moment, Riario did not care.

It was a fantasy he hadn't dared admit to himself, to press his lips to Leonardo's, but now, with Leonardo so vulnerable, he acknowledged it openly. Riario realised that what he wanted was not to hear Leonardo cry with pain, but to scream his name; Riario would suffice, Girolamo would be better.

"What do you know of my heart? Nothing, artista," he purred, and, clutching the knife so as to keep Leonardo compliant, bent over and kissed him.

Leonardo was warm against him, his lips every bit as soft as a woman's, though there was a scratching of his beard against Riario's cheek; that had its own unexpectedly pleasurable sensation. It was thrilling, forbidden, enticing. It was over too quickly, disappointing, as Riario released him without Leonardo having responded at all.

He turned away, returned the knife to the table. He spent a long time examining the torture implements, picking one up now and again, feeling the weight of it, wondering if he could actually bring himself to use any of these devices on Leonardo. The rejection burned, his lips stung from the shameful act.

"Do you kiss all your prisoners?" Leonardo asked finally, breaking the oppressive silence. There was a hesitation in his voice, an uncertainty.

They both knew the answer. Riario gestured idly with the Heretic's Fork before he said, "No."

"Then why me?"

Riario shrugged. He dropped the instrument and turned to face him. "You are so sure of yourself. So certain that your pleasures are pure and not sinful. Perhaps I thought to see for myself, to have a taste of such blasphemous delight with someone experienced in such acts."

"And?"

"It lacked passion."

Leonardo gave a short laugh. "Of course it did. You took me by surprise." He half-closed his eyes, gazing up from beneath his eyelashes. "Try me again."

Riario was not impressed with this attempt to beguile him. "I think not."

Leonardo snorted. "Why? Because I asked you to? Do you prefer having all the power, taking what you want without asking? I thought you'd rather have your conquests on their knees begging, but you see I've heard stories. Cardinals and kings whose greatest joy lies in submission to whores, free, for once, of the heavy yoke of command."

Riario knew the tales too, knew, in fact, several such people by name and more by reputation. Leonardo, not hearing any dissent, lowered his voice and asked, "Which is it, Riario? Do you long to be the seducer, or the seduced?"

"I am in command here," Riario said, as if speaking the words aloud would make them true. He was avoiding giving any answer, as well as trying to regain mastery of the situation. He had no idea what it was about this man that made him lose his composure.

"I'm just asking what would make you happy." Leo grinned. "If you'd prefer, we could change places."

Riario laughed at the brazen suggestion. He stepped in close once more. "You had your chance to do with me what you wanted," Riario reminded him. "Young Nico and your dog had left me tied to a tree, like a gift for their grateful master, and you did nothing but take the key from my neck."

Leonardo had the audacity to roll his eyes. "I was rather preoccupied," he said. "Having just escaped the Vatican and so on. You were, I'm afraid, the last thing on my mind. I didn't know you would take it so personally. If it helps, I'm not saying that I didn't think about it later."

Riario needed a lot more consoling than that. "You thought what? About leaving me humiliated?"

"I thought about how I left you damn near shirtless with barely an admiring glance."

Riario gave a huff of disbelief.

"As I said, I was preoccupied. Otherwise there could have been some, er, intimate discussion."

Riario frowned. He supposed it didn't matter whether Leonardo meant torture or more pleasurable torment. He chose similarly vague wording in response. "You regret not taking advantage of me?"

"Yes."

There was a sound of someone walking along the corridor. Riario waited a moment until the footsteps moved past the door, leaving him in silence once more. "You think that if you seduce me, I will free you."

Leonardo shook his head as best he could. "I think you'll do exactly what you want to me, regardless of what I say or do. I don't have the Book of Leaves, I don't yet know its precise location, and I think you believe me when I say so. You can't just let me go though, you have too much pride for that – though pride is a sin, I seem to recall."

Riario folded his arms. "I suppose you have a suggestion."

"Yes. You'll have to make a show of interrogating me and pretend you've discovered something. Or at least tell the Pope you managed to break me in some way, that I'm on your side now." He gave a sigh of regret. "I'd rather you just kiss me again."

Riario watched him warily. "You would respond differently, now you are expecting it."

Leonardo met his gaze with openness and he sounded genuine when he replied, simply, "Yes."

"You might bite."

Leo grinned. "I might. But I seem to recall that's your thing, not mine."

Yes, he'd snapped at Zoroaster, and even now he was sorry to have missed tearing into the rogue's flesh. It could be pleasurable to bite Leonardo, but under different circumstances than these. To nip at his neck, to nibble his earlobe – Riario found himself momentarily distracted staring at Leonardo's ear – or more interesting places…no, these would not be savage acts of remonstrance such as that he'd aimed at Zoraster. They would be intimate expressions of trust, that, though he would tease and torment, he would not break the skin.

Riario lifted one hand and cupped Leonardo's cheek, one thumb dangerously close to those inviting lips. Eyes almost as dark as his own regarded him with surprising gentleness and encouragement. Riario let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He gave in.

This time it was Riario who held back, while Leonardo returned the kiss. The impulsiveness had left him and doubt and fear robbed the moment of passion once again.

"I didn't bite," Leonardo said softly. He wriggled his hips beneath the leather strap, attempting to bring himself closer to Riario despite his bonds.

"I know." Riario let one hand trail down Leonardo's chest, curving gently around to rest on one hip.

"Then what's the problem?"

Riario stared at the floor a moment and then a smile quirked his lips. "Say my name," he ordered.

Leonardo blinked. "Kiss me, Count."

Riario suppressed a soft laugh at Leonardo's teasing. So he was going to make Riario work for it. Well Riario would gladly work at this. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh below Leonardo's hip bone until he heard the artista catch his breath.

"My name," Riaro ordered. "Say it."

"Riario." Breathless.

Riario stepped right in front of him now, leaned his forehead against Leonardo's, pressed one shoulder against the restrained body. He could feel Leonardo's breath against him, imagined he could hear the creative heart beating rapidly within the muscular chest.

"My name."

"Or else?"

Riario moved his hand lower. Leonardo gave a gasp. He thought it was one of pleasure not fear. "My. Name."

"Girolamo." Leonardo spoke it with reverence.

Riario rewarded him with a third kiss. This time neither of them held back. There was gentleness at first, Riario still cautious but willing to give himself over to the moment. Then there was passion, true emotion, and a struggle for dominance. Riario only stopped when he realised he could neither hold Leonardo in his arms, nor be held, not with Leonardo tied up like this.

He stepped back, pressing the back of his hand to his lips, swollen, possibly bruised. He could still taste Leonardo, and the room felt cold now, as if for one brief moment he'd stood next to a raging fire and now he was alone in the snow, bereft of his cloak.

Leonardo eyed him with an unreadable expression. In the distance a bell tolled.

"I have to go," Riario said, relieved, for he'd been lost as to what to do next, and that was not an experience he was accustomed to. He found he did not like it at all.

"Time to go and confess your sins?" Leonardo sighed. "I thought we were having fun."

Riario fought an urge to kiss him again, or at least backhand him for this renewed arrogance. The interrogation had taken an unexpected turn and reminding Leonardo that he was a prisoner, as he'd been about to do, would only make it worse, so instead Riario smiled broadly. "If that is your idea of fun I pray for your soul, artista."

"Well, if you're praying anyway, feel free. I don't believe, but you go ahead."

"I will be back later to continue this discussion." Riario made for the door, paused to call over his shoulder. "Don't go anywhere."

Leonardo had the audacity to laugh along with him. The man was infuriating, for more reasons than Riario cared to think about.

Riario made one stop on his way to evening prayers. No doubt as soon as he was missed, Leonardo's friends would start to look for him, and make plans to attempt a rescue. Riario wasn't sure, however, that they were up to the task. So he gave Zita some very specific instructions on taking food to the prisoner. How she should release some of his bonds. The leather strap at his shoulders, and one hand, to enable him to feed. She should help him eat and drink a little. When leaving the cell, she should make a poor job of restraining his hand, so that, with patience and determination, the prisoner could begin to work himself free.

Zita repeated the instructions back, bobbed a curtsey, and went on this errand. Riario trusted her implicitly, and trusted in Leonardo's dexterity and strength. He had no doubt that Leonardo would be gone by the time he made his way back to the cell, ridding him of the need to – what had Leonardo said? Pretend to have gleaned information. Yes, this was the easiest way to deal with the situation. Let him think he had escaped of his own volition, let everyone else believe he allowed Leonardo to escape to further his own ends, for Riario would watch as Leonardo then continued to seek out the Book of Leaves.

That night Riario examined the confiscated painting, noting the charcoal lines which were not yet covered in paint, the trees that were half-done with base coats, while other elements of the landscape looked almost finished, the blue and pink sky a stark contrast to the patches of bare canvas. It had a strange beauty, this unfinished piece. One had to accept its flaws to appreciate it, to imagine how it might look once complete.

Was it better to possess something imperfect and treasure it, Riario wondered, placing it carefully on his dresser, than to have nothing at all. Or maybe it was a mocking reminder of something that could never be fully realised.

Perhaps, he thought, pulling off his shirt, neither was true. Perhaps, in time, he could persuade Leonardo to finish the painting. The only question was if that was what Riario himself truly wanted. The answer was not one he was yet ready to give.


End file.
